


Bloodlines

by lazarus_girl



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-25
Updated: 2010-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:59:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl/pseuds/lazarus_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"He was immaculate, like always ..." </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodlines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lizardwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lizardwriter).



> Gen crossover. Set in the summer after S3. Tony comes to apologise on Effy’s behalf. 
> 
> Originally posted at my Livejournal. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own.

August. The heat’s almost unbearable. A heat wave, so says the smiling, tanned weatherman who comes on after the news. It’s gone from the pleasant kind of sunny that you can lie out and tan in to the kind that keeps you awake at night and makes you sleep on top of the bed rather than in it. Still, not that she sleeps all that much anyway. Not anymore.

She’d retreated to the garden half an hour ago, finally giving in to her mum’s pestering that she needed to be outside and get some fresh air. In the shade, under the awning, it’d be cooler, she’d said; there’d be a breeze, but there’s nothing. Even so, it’s better than her room, with the curtains drawn and the noisy oscillating fan creaking as it turns, constantly waking her the second she starts to drift into something like sleep. Out here, it feels like everything’s normal or that she’s closer to it. The smell of fresh cut grass, the acrid smoke of barbecues; screaming kids and the distant sound of an ice-cream van (or maybe a siren she can’t tell) all remind her of what she should be doing and who she should be with. All she’s taken for granted.

Peace and quiet, that’s what she wants. Just to be left alone. Her phone and her laptop, all discarded weeks ago because she was tired of everyone asking how she was and when she’d be coming out again. They want the old Katie back, she knows. Mum, Dad, Emily and James are just the same. She sees it in their eyes when they’re frustrated with her because she picks at her food or refuses to take off her sunglasses - big aviators, with the darkest lenses she could find, no one, you can’t see her eyes – even when she’s inside. This time, it won’t be fixed by a kiss on the forehead from her dad; some of her mum’s chicken soup; beating James at FIFA or going into town with Emily, dancing in some random club and getting pissed on tequila slammers or vodka shots (though the tequila might take the edge off).

She rests back in her chair, curling up toward the right side; eyes suddenly feeling heavy. Her lids begin to drop, slowly. After fighting for what seems like a long time, she gives into it and lets them close.

The nightmare begins, as always, and just like every other time, she’s there again, in the woods with the cold hard ground on her back; the mud, the leaves and that unmistakable mix of cigarettes and perfume that belongs to the girl who’s broken. The girl who’s changed her completely by breaking her just the same. Effy Stonem. It’s not always Effy though, screaming and clawing at her. Sometimes it’s Emily, suffocating her, pinning her down. Sometimes it’s herself, pressing harder still. Sometimes, she still expects blood to be on her pillow instead of feeling a scar.

***

“Hey, hey, wake up!”

She wakes with a start and lurches forward, her heart pounding hard and short of breath. The faint traces of the nightmare are still on her mind – echoes of words, resonating in her head. Confused, she lets out a croaky “Fuck,” lashing out and swatting away the hands she imagines around her neck.

Except, she makes contact with a very real hand that obviously shook her awake, panicked when she realises someone’s standing over her, casting a long shadow, their features obscured.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the voice is gentle, well-spoken. It’s not until she blinks a few times, and he steps out of the sun, that she finally recognises him.

Tony Stonem.

She tenses, receding into the chair, feeling the frame push against her back, suddenly self-conscious. “Do you always fucking sneak up on people like that?!”

“Apologies for the unnecessary heart attack,” he steps back off the patio, on to the grass. “I did try the door, but no one answered,” he continues, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

He sounds cautious, and he’s keeping his distance. He almost looks afraid of her, just like she is of him.

“So you just thought you’d waltz into my garden like you owned the place?!” she snaps, crossing her arms defensively. “What do you want?”

“I’m sorry, I should’ve come another time,” he looks off, giving nothing away and there’s a faint jangling of change as he slips his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I didn’t know you were by yourself,” he motions toward the house, and she turns round, realising its empty.

She remembers then, the fussing and the questions before the goodbyes between waking and sleeping. He’d timed it, perhaps, imagines him waiting on the corner at the top of their road, watching them all go: dad to work; mum out shopping with James in tow, buying food for his birthday party; and Emily, she’s God knows where, because she’s never here and never picks up her phone. Naomi’s all that matters to her now. They’re strangers. Further apart than ever before, but it doesn’t hurt, not like it used to. There’s no jealousy. There’s no hatred. It’s somehow worse that thinking of Emily and Naomi makes her feel nothing at all. Numb. Yes that’s it, but nothing about is good or cleansing. Nothing is healthy, and yet, she can’t change it.

***

He takes a few steps forward, taking off his sunglasses for the first time. She leaves hers on, not wanting him to see the dressing or the scar, though she knows her hair doesn’t properly hide it, no matter how it’s styled. He looks at her, really looks at her and she notices that his eyes are the exactly the same shade of blue as Effy’s. The association throws her off, because instead of the cold, empty stare she so often sees – so often remembers – in Effy’s eyes, these are warm, kind, searching with concern rather than looking for weakness.

She thinks of Spain then, and her auntie Julie’s house and the mosaic tiles at the bottom of the swimming pool in the rental villa and the fear goes.

“Shall we start again?” he asks, with a barely there smile.

She nods, gesturing towards the empty chair on her left, “I’m sorry.”

Her reply overlaps his apology, and there’s a moment of awkward laughter.

“That was my next line,” he adds, hooking his sunglasses into his polo shirt before sitting down. “Not much of an opener, I know.”

“Why didn’t she come herself?” she finds herself asking, before she’s even realised.

“Effy didn’t think you’d speak to her, and my mum didn’t think it would be the best idea anyway,” he answers, turning more toward her. “I’m the acceptable face of the Stonem family. An ambassador if you will,” he smiles, but it disappears quickly when his joke falls flat. “She’s away. Italy. She won’t be back for a while,” he adds, a moment later, offhandedly.

“I’ve got nothing to say to her,” she shrugs. “If I ever see her again, it’ll be too soon.”

He nods. “I know it’s hard. It’s been hard for Effy too.”

“Hard? How exactly, she’s not the one with nine stitches in her head!”

It comes out harsher than she intends and he leans back again, holding up a hand.

“She’s been going through a lot. It’s complicated. It wasn’t really about you. She’s sorry, really.”

The way he’s looking at her, watching her so carefully, she wants to wants to believe him. She wants to end all this and just forgive Effy and let it all go, but she can’t because she’s reminded he’s still a Stonem. Then she remembers that Effy lied, Effy cheated and Effy took Freddie away from her. They come from the same DNA, so he could lie too. She heard stories all the time, about all the girls he’d been with and how he’d cheated on his girlfriend. No, he couldn’t be trusted either. It’s in the blood.

“So I just happened to be there when she was off her face on shrooms had a rock in her hand?”

“Well … yes,” he states, so matter-of-factly that it’s horrifying.

“Oh, I deserved it then?!” she hears her voice break at the end of the sentence, taking all the power out of it. She’s angry, but the waver betrays her.

He jumps in quickly, looking mildly terrified, “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that! I meant it could have been anyone. Even that floppy-haired stoner twat, Freddie!”

No, she thinks, bitterly, she’d never hurt her precious Freddie. She looks away then, because she’s sure she’s going to cry, and she’s cried enough. Crying happened alone in her room, not in front of Tony. He doesn’t need to see that.

He puts his hand on her shoulder again, cautiously, “It’s OK,” he says gently. She flinches at the touch and it’s gone again.

Taking a breath, she attempts to gather herself and turns back to him.

“Do you want … A drink?” he asks, after an awkward silence opens up. “You should stay hydrated.”

“OK,” she replies, warily. “I can come inside and help,” she offers, trying not to sound like she doesn’t want him rifling round her mum’s kitchen and failing miserably.

“I’m sure I can find my way around. Fully house trained you know,” he nods, not giving her another opening to protest, before he’s up and off into the house. “You stay where you are,” he calls.

He’s nothing like that boy she remembers from the bus stop by their school surrounded by girls. OK, so he was good-looking, but he was a smarmy prick too, and there’s little trace of that. As for the long, floppy haircut they all used to obsess about; there’s something shorter and much neater left in its place, clean-shaven, except for the vaguest hint of stubble. Everything else is the same though: the polo shirts, the Ray Bans, and the neat pressed trousers, like something from the 50s. He was immaculate, like always, and she can’t help but feel comforted by that.

What’s not so comforting, however, is that she looks a complete mess. It’s been so long since she’s had a reason to get dressed – the last time was The Love Ball, and that was a spectacular failure – or anyone to dress for, that she’s fallen into the habit of wearing her vest and pyjama shorts all day and no make-up without caring who saw her. The last thing she wants is Tony going home to Effy and their parents, painting her as a complete wreck, but then, maybe she did, because it’d make Effy feel worse. If guilt was the only weapon she had to hurt Effy, then it would have to do.

***

Whilst she listens to cupboards and drawers opening and closing, terrified he’ll break something and she’ll have to explain it away as an accident, since here’s no way she can bring herself to tell her parents that he’s been here, and Effy’s name is banned from conversation, she combs her fingers through her messy hair, regarding her reflection through the glass in the French doors. Her mum and auntie Julie had persuaded her to it dye it a few weeks ago, to cheer her up. Thinking that she’d want it the same vibrant red as Emily, they were surprised when she chose something altogether darker, they exchanged worried looks and their claims that it made her look grown-up and sophisticated had an all too hollow ring.

It looks better, but everything else needs work.

As his footsteps get closer, she smoothes her shorts and straightens her vest, tucking her bra straps out of sight, before settling herself again, so she’s sitting cross-legged in the chair, hands in her lap to hide her chipped purple nail polish. It’s futile, all this makeshift preening, she knows, but it if she doesn’t do it, it’s like Effy’s taken something else from her, and there isn’t all that much left. This she can fix, this she knows how to do. If she can’t, she’ll be just bones soon, if she lets herself sink that far, rail thin and cold, just like her nemesis.

She wouldn’t let her win. Not again.

“An orange juice for the lady,” he announces, offering a tall glass to her with a flourish, setting his own on the table between them before sitting down again.

No one’s ever called her a lady before, and it makes her blush. He smiles that funny little lopsided smile they all used to think was cute, and for a second, she lets herself be swayed by it, but then snaps out if it, just as fast.

“You didn’t erm, _spike_ this or anything, did you?” she looks between the orange and Tony suspiciously, noticing that he’s yet to drink any of his own.

“What? No! Jesus,” he makes a face and shakes his head. “The only added ingredient is ice cubes, scouts honour,” he leans forward and picks up his glass, tilting it a little and sure enough, it clinks.

Now it’s her turn to feel awkward. Make that very awkward.

“I didn’t mean it,” she says, looking over at him, sadly. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he comments, pausing to take a long sip of his drink. “I wouldn’t be very trusting either. I mean, you and Effy were supposed to be friends, and she does that to you. Not her finest hour.”

This, she didn’t expect. At all. It wouldn’t be strange for him to feel sorry for her. Effy’s parents had already been round, talked to her parents and given their apologies, but then, parents are supposed to. Everything their kids do automatically becomes their fault, so they apologise automatically. For brothers and sisters, it’s different, they know them better. They know the truth. When they apologise, they mean it, and this time, she can tell by the look in his eyes that he means every word he’s saying.

“She’s your sister, you’re not supposed to say things like that.”

“I can,” he smirks, “ _because_ she’s my sister.”

“But if it was anyone else, they’d get a rock to the head?” she fires back, dryly, finishing the last of her drink.

“Exactly,” he nods. “You know,” he begins, shifting to put down his glass. “To be honest, I think you’ve handled this rather well. I’d say you were perfectly within your rights to attack me in revenge, perhaps with that garden gnome over there, whilst I’m not looking? You could even leave in his little fishing rod to poke me in the eye at the same time and maximise the damage. It’d be rather poetic, don’t you think?”

He quirks an eyebrow and they look at each other before bursting into laughter. It takes a few moments for the guilt to kick back in, and they stop abruptly.

“You’re allowed to laugh you know,” he holds her gaze. “It might feel like your life’s ruined, but it’s not,” he says, solemnly, after a moment.

Her eyes narrow, annoyed, “How would you know?”

As soon as the accusation leaves her mouth, she regrets it, closing her eyes for a split-second as she mentally curses herself. Of course he knows what this feels like. He might be the only person who has any real idea.

“Boy versus bus,” he states, flatly. “You should see the bus,” he laughs, weakly. “It changes you, makes you see differently. You aren’t going to be the same, but as soon as you can accept that, it gets better. Really.”

She swallows hard, feeling tears well up. “Really?”

“Really,” he repeats, nodding for emphasis. He reaches forward, and carefully brushes away the lone tear that’s escaped, cutting off its descent down her cheek. She takes in a shallow breath, but doesn’t otherwise react.

“I don’t know if I can forgive her,” she admits, barely able to look at him.

“When she fucks up, she fucks up. She learnt from the best.” he sighs heavily. “I know you think you know her, but you don’t. No one does, really. Sometimes, I’m not sure I do. She wants to talk to you, make things better, but she doesn’t know how. I have to look after her. She’s not strong like you.”

She nods along as he talks. That she can understand. He’s just trying to look out for his sister, just like she does for Emily. Sometimes she says the wrong thing, sometimes she does the wrong thing and Emily hates her most of the time, but she loves her all the same. Deep down, she knows Emily loves her too.

“I don’t feel it,” she shrugs, disbelieving, gaze lowering to the grass, focussing on the blades, counting to distract herself, feeling her cheeks burning again.

He leans forward, “Well, you are. You managed to make friends with Effy and resisted the urge to kill me this afternoon! We Stonems are, I’m reliably informed quite knackering, emotionally speaking,” he laughs a little, as if recalling something. “But,” he pauses, growing serious. “You survived the woods too.”

“Only just,” she replies, quietly.

He reaches out then, carefully pushing back her hair to reveal the dressing she tries so desperately to hide.

“Jesus…” he breathes, and after a moment he touches the dressing cautiously. This time, she doesn’t flinch. It’s so gentle she barely feels it; so very different from the single, sharp blow that caused all this mess in the first place.

“Please don’t,” she turns away, ashamed.

“If I could take this back, I would,” he turns her head back toward him, making her look into his eyes.

Then, he closes the gap between them, and places a single, light kiss on her lips. It takes her by surprise.

“What … what’re you doing?!” she stumbles over the words, reeling a little.

“Confidence building,” he smirks. “You didn’t deserve this. You’re a good person, Katie. Prove her wrong,” he continues in a low whisper, before getting up. There’s another kiss then, lighter still, right over dressing. “There’s still time.”

“You don’t … know me,” she replies, dumbfounded, looking at him as he puts on his sunglasses and steps off into the sun.

“I know enough,” he says calmly, turning back to her. He’s watching her again, but it feels different this time, she feels lighter somehow.

Before she has a chance to think what that means, he’s walking away.

“Tony, wait!” she calls after him, but he carries on. “Where are you going?”

At her question, he spins round, “Home. My work here is done,” he smiles, lowering his sunglasses and winking at her. “Get some rest, you’re going to need it,” he continues, with a wave.

“But …” she tails off, unsure what she wants to say. Not that it matters. He couldn’t hear her anyway.

“Don’t worry, I’ll see myself out!” he calls, without looking back.

She stands, straining to see as he gets over the back gate in one rather athletic leap, barely rattling the fence.

Just like that, he’s gone, and she has no idea what to do with herself. Part of her wants to share everything with the next person that comes back into the house, but she knows they’ll never understand. If her parents ever find out he was here without their knowledge, she’ll never hear the end of it, and it’ll just signal another lengthy, abusive rant from her mother about what bad children the Stonems are and how Effy should be locked up. Without Emily to moan at and pick on, since she stopped listening to and caring about what she thinks long ago – Naomi’s mum is apparently the greatest person ever to have drawn breath, and anything that comes out of mouth is Gospel – all of their mum’s energy has been focussed her way instead.

***

She slumps down slowly in her chair, letting out a long breath, touching her fingertips to her lips, remembering his words. Coming from Tony, it didn’t sound so difficult to try again with Effy and see if they could put it behind them, so she could be herself again. As soon as she heard Effy was home from Italy, she’d phone, and they’d talk. There’d be no awkwardness at college, no gossip, none of their friends picking sides and no Emily, sticking to her like glue whilst giving Effy death glares. She could get her life back, and, some day, they might even be friends again.

The scar would still be there of course, a permanent reminder, but it didn’t have to be bad. Tony had made her see it was possible to recover. It was possible that change could be good. She was going to take control again, and leave the past, with all the hatred and the bitching aside. Starting tomorrow, she’d be a new Katie, a better Katie, and an honest Katie, especially to herself.

It’s cooler now, and she reaches for the blanket resting on the back of her chair, wrapping herself in it against the sudden chill in the air. In the distance, she hears the rumblings of thunder, and then, closer the soft pitter-patter of rain. She settles back and watches as the fat droplets fall on to the patio, lulled by the sound. Eventually, just like before, her eyes grow tired, and she lets herself drift off to sleep, unafraid and at peace for the first time in months.


End file.
